All in Good Time
by Tos-Lover1
Summary: Catherine has a heart to heart with Jim.


A/N: Brass/Cath. This was written for the Valentine's Day Smutathon at GeekFiction. Not mine. Thanks to Lisa for the incredible beta.

All in Good Time

There weren't many things that could flap an LVPD homicide captain, but unexpected packages from ex-spouses were definitely one of them. It had been on his desk when arrived for his shift that evening. A regular brown shipping box, no more than six inches long on each side, it had no return address. It wasn't unusual to get packages sent to him on the job so he hadn't thought much of it when he entered his office and tossed his keys on the desk and the box was sitting next to his phone. Then the night had kicked into overdrive—two 419's and a 418 that ended up a 419. When the family members left and he fell back into his chair, he remembered the box.

Its contents left him in a rage.

"You bitch." He was on her as soon as the phone connected.

"Jim?" She could have been in the next room. He wished she were in the next room. No. Better she be out of physical range.

"_You absolute bitch."_

"You got my package." He heard the delight and smugness in her voice. So, she had been waiting by the phone, probably willing it to ring. Their marriage had only been a year old when he had realized the destiny of confusing smug for cute was a whirlpool of unhappiness. And close to fifteen years after his divorce those suspects who pulled out the smug card quickly earned his nastiest interrogations.

The contents of the package lay on his desk—a small red box wrapped in slender pink ribbon. Inside it had been her hand-written note. Short, nasty and penned in her cramped style, he clutched it, crumpled and torn from his fierce gut reaction. He paced his office. Unable to even try to keep a cool head—the phone wire bounced behind him, knocking over the pen pot and slapping against his coffee as it tried to keep up. He lifted the note again, willing the words to magically change.

"Jim? Still there?"

"Have you done it?" His voice took on a harder edge. "Have you told her?"

She laughed down the phone line, "You always were a crappy reader. Valentine's Day, Jim. Is it today?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. How long had he stayed married to this woman? "You gonna tell me why?"

He listened to her controlled voice, carefully kept devoid of emotion, "Seems like the right time."

She was baiting him. He knew it and still couldn't help himself, "The right time? We always said that no matter what or who was to blame that Ellie would never find out what you did."

This time the laughter was tinged with a touch of scorn, "What I did?"

"Yeah, _you._" He wanted to smash the receiver against his desk until her voice drowned in static. Did perps feel this helpless when _he_ interrogated them?

"Wouldn't have happened if you weren't carrying on with your slag of a partner." It still amazed him that she rationalized what she did against what he did, when his singular affair started years after any of hers. She continued to twist the knife as she smelled his blood, "Aren't you off-shift yet? You may still work your ungodly hours of avoidance but most of us have to get ready for work right around now."

Brass closed his eyes. She had him by the balls. She knew as well as he that Ellie would never see his side of it. "I really—"

"Jim, my coffee's getting cold. Let's talk in another ten years, okay?"

A loud click and she was gone. He pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared at it, unwilling to believe what had just happened; but her mocking laugh seared through his brain. He slammed the receiver back into the cradle, and not enough to quell his immediate anger; he lifted it again and drove it home harder, as if she would feel it two thousand miles away.

The car lurched into reverse, but before Brass could hit the gas, the passenger door opened and Catherine slipped into the seat next to him. Cool as a breeze she pulled the door shut and appraised him, "Where are we going?"

Staring straight ahead, Brass tapped his thumb on the steering wheel, "I'm going to get drunk. You're going to get out of my car."

"Drunk. I didn't think you were having that bad a day."

The volley of angry voices in his head stopped; he turned to her, "How do you know what kind of a day I'm having?"

"I always know what kind of day you're having," she said quietly, "same as I always know what kind of mood you're in."

His mouth was half-open before he realized he didn't know what to say. Staring foolishly at her, his foot slipped slowly off the brakes and the car continued its backwards exit from the parking spot.

She smiled.

"You know what kind of a day Nick is having?" Where did that come from?

"Should I?"

The process of gathering his wits was a slow one, "I just assume you keep tabs on all of us during your busy day. What about Greg?"

A shrug.

"Sara?"

Head shake.

"Gil?"

She smiled and nodded, "Sulking."

"Warrick?"

"Nope."

"Excuse me if I don't believe that one." He pulled out of the parking lot, suddenly unsure where he was heading.

"Suit yourself."

What had she said about Gil? He didn't want to bite, but the natural curiosity of being a homicide detective reared its head, "Gil? What's up with him?"

She smirked, "He spent a lot of time wrapping and packaging a twig for Sara. He can't understand her lack of enthusiasm."

Jim glanced at her, wondering how much she knew about his own carefully packed box, "Well tell him next time he's by her locker to take a closer look."

Her eyes widened, "really?"

"Really." He allowed himself a small smile, "It's nice that you don't know everything, Catherine."

"You're right. Why don't we go get a cup of coffee and you can tell me what's got you so fired up?"

He shook his head, "You first. What makes me so special that you keep tabs on me?"

"No one worries about you, Jim. It needed to be fixed."

That was twice in the span of five minutes she'd rendered him speechless. And now he could add confusion to his growing list of emotions. He pulled back into the LVPD parking lot. Jesus, had he really just taken Catherine Willows on a drive around the block? No wonder she was laughing.

She raised an eyebrow as he pulled over. "You still want me to get out?"

Brass thought he saw something more than a simple question in her look, but when it came to Catherine he wasn't willing to trust his gut and right now had too much going on to be anything but honest, "Catherine, I'm not used to this sort of vibe from you," he hoped she'd take up the slack and finish his thought for him. When she didn't and sat waiting for him to continue, the sinking feeling in the pit of his gut told him to forget it. It was simple: turn to her, thank her for her concern and ask her politely, but firmly, to go.

"Jim, I'm not getting out and I'm amazed you were about to ask me to."

"I don't want to do anything else stupid today," he felt himself blush and wondered if next, just for good measure, his head would explode.

"Then let's pretend you didn't just say that. I know you have beer in the fridge at home. You can buy me a drink there." She put the car back in drive.

"When my ex was pregnant I didn't know I wasn't the father. I can't say whether I would have stuck around if I did." With a sigh he dropped to the floor in front of Catherine, sitting on the couch. He rested his head against the seat cushions and stared into the depths of his half-full bottle of beer.

Behind him she pulled her knees to her chin. "You must have been half the detective you are now."

"Or half the man. I was better in my box, pretending not to know things weren't that great at home, but still holding out for better times."

"You tried. Makes you a lot more of a man in my book." She appraised him from behind and wondered if his closely trimmed hair was as soft as it looked, "what I don't get is why you're still hung up on her."

He froze. Instinct told her he would change the subject, but he surprised her with a small shrug. He didn't turn around, "you're right, but not in the way you think. I wasn't perfect or always content, but after living with her for close to ten years," he sighed, "well, now the last fifteen read like a strip mall of broken dates, one-night stands and very short relationships."

Damaged goods. It was as clear a warning as she'd ever had from a man. And with anyone else she'd heed it. But over the last couple of months an unfamiliar feeling had resided in the pit of her stomach. At first she hadn't recognized it—it had been so long since she had experienced it—but the day she brushed past him in the hallway and didn't know where to place her eyes spelled it out clear as day. She had a crush. On Jim Brass. And until today she had sat on it, unsure of what to do. She got up, put her beer on the table and stood in front of him with her hand out.

"You're not asking me to dance are you?" He took her hand anyway and got up.

"No." She didn't let go of his hand and found it curious that he seemed fine with that. The bedroom was down the hall, and as much as she wanted to take him there now, she wasn't sure what he'd do with that. Leaning into him so no light could squeeze between them, she ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, lacing her fingers through his.

Barely audible, he whispered in her ear, "Cath, what are we doing?"

It was gallant, she thought, for him to share the blame for their current situation and pulled back with a light stare, "Us?"

"Okay then. You. What are you doing?"

She shivered at the strength in his arms as they wrapped around her and he pulled her back to him. "Time and place, Jim."

"I just spent twenty minutes telling you why—,"

Her mouth closed over his and she was pretty sure he got the message to shut up. She trailed her mouth across his upper lip, delighting in the stubble of his five o'clock shadow. His chin brushed against hers as he fought for position against her mouth. She pushed him backwards towards the bedroom, their combined breaths heavier and shorter as their kiss lengthened. There was no hesitation in his steps.

She wanted this to last and stopped him in the doorway, quickly placing a finger to his lips. Loosening and removing his tie she kissed his neck while she unhooked the top buttons of his shirt. With the release of each shirt button she removed an item of clothing—their shoes, his belt, her sweater—revealing her black lace bra.

He stared at her, "oh God..."

About to silence him once more she stopped when she saw the glow in his eyes. The blue eyes she had looked into every day and never seen what she did now. And in that one look she understood that he had known all along what had taken her ten years to figure out.

She led him to the bed, removing his shirt and dropping it to the floor. In slow motion she trailed her hand down his chest, outlining circles through the soft hair until finding the clasp to his pants. Jim let out a sharp breath as his pants slipped down and her hand grazed his erection through his boxers. Putting his hands back to work he caressed her neck, gently pulling her into another kiss. He took his time exploring her mouth while his fingers slow-danced down her neck, lingering on her shoulders to push aside her bra straps. She reveled in his softness, pressing tightly against him, unwilling to leave a moment of him not explored. And when he reached both hands behind her and removed her bra she couldn't stop the moan exploding through her body. His fingers slid between her navel and pants, nimbly flicking the button and sending them sliding to the floor. Her black panties and his blue boxers slipped quietly after them.

She didn't care how the covers got pulled back, but before Catherine knew it she was in his bed, head cradled by a feathery pillow. It seemed like he covered her entire body. Whatever she had expected from him, it wasn't the self-assured lover who was kissing and caressing her nipples as though he'd shared his bed with her for years. The heat of his lips sent quivering warmth flowing to every corner of her body and she grabbed him, stroking him until she knew he couldn't hold on any longer. She guided him into her, savoring the exquisite clench as she took him fully inside.

He paused in all the right places, slowed down when she tightened, stopped and kissed her when she writhed beneath him, brought her back from the edge when she was sure he had pushed her too far. Now it was too much, and unwilling to hold on any longer, she let the electrifying heat drive through her body, making her arch against him, pressing into him until he tensed and groaned, growling her name before burying his face in her neck.

There had never been a warmth like this, it reached into her soul, engulfed her and made her whole again. As she drifted off to sleep she wondered if she imagined hearing Jim dial the phone and talking to Ellie.


End file.
